


Stony Ficlets

by ironxprince



Series: Ficlets [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bisexual Steve Rogers, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:14:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26293987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironxprince/pseuds/ironxprince
Summary: A collection of short, unrelated stories about the romantic relationship between Steve Rogers and Tony Stark.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Ficlets [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910518
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	1. Happiness

Tony never thought he’d find happiness in a partner.

He always dreamed he would. He dreamed he’d find someone who loved him no matter what, someone who would always remain by his side and support him and comfort him and trust him to comfort them in return.

For the longest time, he thought that _someone_ would be Pepper, but then she left him. Said his “hobbies”, him working on new Iron Man marks and being an Avenger and his coping mechanisms, were too much. Said she wasn’t equipped to deal with his traumas and his PTSD and his illnesses, so she left

and took Tony’s happiness with her.

Maybe he wasn’t cut out for… for _happiness_. Maybe the universe didn’t want him to have it. Maybe he was meant to be alone forever, just an isolated soul, with the occasional fling. Maybe his being someone’s partner was too much, an infringement on them, and he’d hate nothing more than to force himself onto some poor soul who would be too kind to turn him down.

So, he stopped looking - for a relationship, for stability, for love.

For happiness.

He continued on as an Avenger, throwing himself into his work as a replacement for partner. It didn’t work, but he convinced himself it did. He convinced himself he was happy, and so, he was.

He didn’t know what _true_ happiness was until he found Steve Rogers.

There was nothing between them before. They were _friends_ before.

But one day, post-battle, Steve removed his helmet, and his golden hair fell into his face, and his bright blue eyes sparkled with post-battle excitement, and he was smiling deliriously

and Tony _fell_.


	2. “You’re… beautiful.” “And you’re concussed.”

Tony had never been one to lose his balance. He was always sure on his feet, confidently strutting everywhere he went - unless, of course, there was a distraction.

The distraction this time being, Steve Rogers.

It wasn’t like Steve was even _doing_ anything. His back was to Tony, one of his hands was in his pocket and the other was holding a coffee mug, and he was staring out the window.

And his shoulders were toned in the golden sunlight, rising and falling with every deep breath, and he had a _serious_ case of bedhead, and-

Tony’s foot caught on something - his other foot? - and he went sprawling to the floor.

Steve turned at the sudden _thud_ , placing his coffee cup on the kitchen table beside him as he hurried to kneel at Tony’s side. Tony blinked up at him.

“What happened?” Steve asked quickly. “Did you fall? I-” Tony gave a toothy grin, and Steve cursed, looking closely at his eyes. “How many fingers am I holding up?” Ah, yes. Steve’s fingers. Tony saw them, saw how pretty they looked, so smooth as opposed to Tony’s own calloused ones, but Steve’s were thicker - Tony’s were definitely more nimble-

“ _Tony_. Here, follow my finger-”

Steve was blurry, the room spinning above him, but Tony could still see his bright blue eyes, a lighthouse in the darkness, his golden hair that looked so soft- sand. It looked like sand, white sand on the beach, and his eyes were the waves. The waves and the lighthouse.

Tony loved the beach.

Steve rocked back on his heels. Tony still hadn’t moved from the floor, eyes drifting upwards.

“We’ve got to get you to a doctor-”

“You’re beautiful,” Tony said with a lopsided grin, blinking slowly up at Steve - Steve, whose cheeks were growing red. He was _blushing_. Aw, he looked cute when he blushed, all nervous, and his eyes were wide. He was embarrassed? Oh, Stevie, don’t be embarrassed.

“And you’re….” Steve blew air out of his nose. “Concussed. We-we’ve gotta get you to… doctor. To a doctor. Yeah, that’s what we’re going to do,” he mumbled, beginning to pick Tony up bridal style as he avoided eye contact. Tony reached a hand up and turned Steve’s face down to his as Steve walked them to an elevator.

“Steve,” Tony whispered. “Steve. Hey. Down here.”

Steve met his gaze, sighing. “You’re going to hate me after this is all over for letting you ramble like this, but I’m curious.” He flashed Tony a small smile. “What is it, honey?”

Tony opened his mouth, but them slammed it closed suddenly, brows furrowing. “You called me _honey_.”

“I think you’re hearing things,” Steve said with a grin as he stepped into the elevator. “You’re pretty out of it right now.”

“Noo,” Tony said, elongating the word. “You called me _honey_.”

Steve hoisted Tony up higher into his arms. “I definitely did not, darling.”

Tony gasped over dramatically. “You did it _again!_ Steve Rogers is calling me pet names,” he sang. Steve laughed.

“Can’t prove that.”

“Oh, yes, I can! Steve Rogers called me pet names because Steve Rogers likes me! Steve and Tony, sitting in a tree-”

“You called me beautiful first.”

Tony frowned. “No, I didn’t.”

“Oh, you definitely did. But I guess it’s a good thing you don’t remember that, because you’re not going to remember any of this.”

“Yes I am! I’m going to remember, because Steve likes me, Steve Rogers likes me….”

“Aand, we’ve reached the med bay,” Steve announced over Tony’s rambles as the doors slid open. “Good-bye, loopy Tony.”

“Good-bye, Stevie, my love,” Tony responded, patting Steve’s cheek roughly and with poor coordination, fingers brushing against Steve’s eye on the second pat. Steve laughed as he put Tony on his feet and helped him walk over to the first doctor he could find.

The issue is, Steve confused drunk Tony with concussed Tony. The difference?

Drunk Tony didn’t remember anything.

Concussed Tony _did_.


	3. Coffee shop, pt. 1

Steve handed a cup of black coffee to a customer with a smile before turning to serve the next. It was Monday morning, and the cafe was full of customers, as was usual. Of course, _full_ was a relative word - his cafe only really had three tables and six chairs, and on top of that, there was only enough standing room for four customers on one side of the counter and Steve himself on the other.

Steve turned to his computer with a wide (and only slightly faux) smile, resetting the order.

“Hello, and what can I get you this fine morning?” Steve greeted the next customer without looking up.

“Hi. I’ll have a large double mocha latte, iced, with caramel drizzle. Whipped cream on top, with peppermint and coffee bean shavings, and one of those biscotti sticks.” Steve’s fingers froze over his computer screen. “Oh, and an oatmeal cookie, if you have one.”

Slowly, Steve looked up at the customer, brow furrowed. Tony Stark stared back, a small smirk playing on his lips, sunglasses dark on his face.

“Yes, hi. _The_ Tony Stark here. Never say I don’t support local businesses-”

“No, that’s not it,” Steve interrupted, holding his hands up in front of him to cut Tony off. “You walk down this street every day. I see you all the time, right outside that window. I couldn’t care less that you’re here, I just- I meant-”

Steve’s mouth fell open as he thought of the words to say. Tony watched with amusement, eyebrow raised.

“… Do you not have peppermint shavings? You could use orange zest, too, I guess. That would also do the trick. Unless, you don’t have that, either? You would kind of be considered a failed cafe, though, if you had no orange zest-”

“You don’t ramble this much on t.v. Maybe I should prepare you a script next time you come in here.” Tony threw back his head and laughed, and Steve blushed. It felt good to make his customers happy. (Because that’s all this was.) “No, I’m astonished because, 12-year-old girls whose parents let them order coffee for the first time have orders less extensive than that one.”

“Yeah, well, if you’ve got the money-”

“Which you definitely do.”

“Oh, you know it. Now, I’m just going around to see which cafes can actually deliver. Only one did so far - there was this kid, the son of the owner of a cafe down the street-” Tony shook his head fondly. “Anyway, I feel like he was on the verge of fainting when _The_ Tony Stark walked into his family cafe, so I’ve got to find another provider that I hopefully _won’t_ give a heart attack, and maybe you’ll be it.”

Steve smirked, typing the order into the computer. “So pressure’s on?” He pointed to the keypad for Tony to insert his card and turned away, beginning to prepare the drink.

“Oh, you’d better believe it.”

Steve would only realize later, but as he blended the drink, Tony left him a $100 tip.

“So, what’s the story behind _The_ Tony Stark’s crazy coffee order?”

“You drink coffee so much, you’ve got to find a way to entertain yourself. It’s the little things, you know?”

“Oh, of course,” Steve mocked. “And you entertain yourself by mixing the most bizarre ingredients you can think of?”

“Bullseye. Naming them off the top of my head. I don’t think I’ve ever ordered the same drink twice.”

“And have you ever visited the same coffee shop twice?” Steve asked as he wrote something on the cup. “Because I’d pity that poor barista.”

Tony took the cup from Steve’s hand with a grin. Sometime when Steve’s back was turned, Tony had taken off his glasses.

“That _poor barista_ might be you soon. A minute and a half. New record - and, you _do_ have peppermint shavings.”

Steve handed over a small paper bag with a grin. “There’s your cookie, and there’s some orange zest in a smaller bag in there, too, if you wanted to shake things up. I do _not_ own a failed cafe.”

“My sincerest apologies.” Tony gave a mock bow. “I should probably let you get back to your customers.”

“Yeah, your net worth is dropping with every second you make them wait.”

“And I care so much about society thinks of me, so I should run.” Tony began to step away from the queue.

“But you should, um-” Tony hesitated. Steve nervously fiddled with the hem of his apron. “You should come back. Maybe, when we’re not as busy, and I can- I can try to beat my own record.” He nodded toward the cup in Tony’s hand. “Or you could throw new random ingredients at me and see how long it takes me to whip them together.”

Tony smiled faintly. “I might just take you up on that.”

“I’ll see you around, _The_ Tony Stark.”

“And I, you-” Tony froze. “Oh. I don’t even know your name.”

Steve turned to the next customer, biting back a grin. “And what can I get for you today?”

Tony frowned, turning to leave the cafe. Had he just been hit on? Flirted with, with no intentions to spend the night together… or to establish an actual relationship, with the _one_ person he might’ve actually enjoyed it with?

Tony slid his glasses back onto his face as he took a sip of his coffee, and - okay, maybe it didn’t _taste_ the best, but it was coffee, and at least he could taste every ingredient he had demanded! And it would probably taste even better with the orange zest-

Tony caught sight of something written on the side of his cup, and he froze in the centre of the sidewalk, lifting the cup to eye-level. Frustrated passer-bys jostled him with their shoulders, but he paid them no mind.

_THE Steve Rogers_

_Call me :)_

Tony was already entering the number into his phone.


	4. Coffee shop, pt. 2

For the first time in a long time, Tony found himself more invested in his morning coffee than in his work. Today’s ingredient mixture actually… tasted kind of _good_. Maybe this would be the first drink he’d order a second time! It was a good thing he asked for the receipt, or he might never have remembered just _exactly_ what he had asked Steve to concoct - did he mention pineapple in there somewhere?

Tony barely registered the chimes at the door, too busy going for another sip - how was his cup almost empty already? He might be ordering that duplicate drink sooner than he thought.

Heavy footsteps, multiple.

A gun being cocked, and chairs scarping against the floor. Muffled gasps.

Tony’s eyes flew up from his drink.

He looked immediately to Steve, standing behind the counter, chin raised and eyes wide… with concealed fear. Two men stood before him, dressed to their chins with black and both wearing ski masks. They strode to the counter, one of them holding a gun.

Customers trembled, most having ducked to the floor. They peered nervously up at the scene. Tony mimicked them, sliding under the table and analyzing the situation.

The first man stepped forward. Steve met his glare quickly.

“All the money you have,” he demanded. “ _Now_.”

Steve moved instantly, opening the register. Tony’s heart beat loudly in his ears. He couldn’t just let Steve get robbedlike this - he had heard on multiple occasions just how much Steve loved his small business, but what could he do? This happened all the time in New York, and there was nothing Tony _could_ do-

Apparently, Steve wasn’t moving fast enough. The second thief raised his gun, leveling it at Steve’s chest.

Tony moved without thinking, standing abruptly and clearing his throat. The gunman swiveled to face him, and there were muffled screams from around the cafe. Steve’s eyes flashed to his, all previous composure suddenly gone, replaced with pure _panic_.

“Hi there.” Tony flashed his best smile. “Targeting small businesses, are we?”

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve hissed. The first thief grabbed Steve’s apron and tugged him forward sharply. Steve said nothing more, trembling hands returning to the register.

“You know, I’d bet I have more money currently in my wallet than _this_ place made in the last year.”

Steve snorted, barely concealed by a faux cough. The first thief gestured for Steve to hurry, but the second stopped him. They shared a look, and the one without a gun turned toward Tony, gesturing for him to come closer.

Tony forced his breaths to remain steady and complied.

“Now, hold on.” The gun swiveled back to Steve. Tony glared at him - _I almost got you out of this, you fool_ \- but Steve just winked. “You came for _my_ store. You clearly planned it, and now you’re jumping ship for the next best offer?”

“Which is _smart_ ,” Tony said with a glare. _Let them take me. Better me than you_. “They want money, obviously they’re going to go for the highest bidder.”

“This isn’t an auction-”

“ _Shut up!_ ” Thief number two yelled.

Tony’s heart stuttered in his chest as he watched the man turn, and fire a shot.

Screams.

Tony’s eyes closed, flinching and stumbling back on instinct. When he forced them open, Steve was… he was nowhere to be seen. _Gone_. Disappeared, having ducked behind the counter.

At least, Tony hoped he ducked.

Tony’s heart sped up in his chest. They had a gun. They were willing to _use_ it. He had to get them away from these civilians, before they could… hurt anyone else.

Tony swallowed thickly, forcing his eyes away from the now vacant counter. Steve was fine. Tony knew he was, because he _had_ to be. There was no other option.

“Gentlemen,” he said, voice trembling as he slowly lifted his hands. “Let’s all stay calm here. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“And let you go running to the cops?” the first man scoffed. “No, thanks. You’re coming with us.”

A woman near Tony’s feet stifled a sob. Tony forced back one of his own. To save Steve, to save these civilians, he would do anything.

He forced a nod, and the first man lunged forward, grabbing Tony’s shoulder with a too-tight grip and pulling him forward. Tony fought back a shiver as he was shoved in front of the two men, his back to them, with a hand on his shoulder, and the barrel of the gun pressed between his shoulder blades.

He was shoved lightly forward. “No trouble,” one of the men muttered. Tony took a shaky step.

He was being… _kidnapped_. Held at gunpoint. Cool. Okay. He _could_ try to fight, but what did heknow about combat? There were too many civilians in harm’s way if he screwed up, and-

There was a groan from behind him, and the pressure was lifted from his shoulder.

Tony turned sharply. The man previously leading him away was lying flat on his back, breath having been knocked out of him, and the second swung his gun, but it was being knocked out of his hands. It fell to the floor with a clatter, and a swift punch connected with his jaw. He fell with a _thud_.

Steve stood triumphantly above them, breathing heavily as he wiped sweat from his brow. There was an abnormally large smile on his face as he shrugged toward Tony.

Tony’s mouth fell open as civilians slowly recovered, staring in awe at the two men lying unconscious, and above them, one who couldn’t even weigh 100 pounds and was barely five feet tall.

“My friend trained in the army,” Steve explained breathlessly. “He taught me a couple of moves.”

All Tony could do was stare at Steve, take in his bright blue eyes and the way his mouth curled up in the faintest of smiles. He tugged Steve forward quickly, pulling him to his chest, not caring about anything but the fact that he was _alive_.

And that’s exactly what he said.

“You’re… not _dead_ ,” he breathed. Steve chuckled, gingerly lifting his arms around Tony’s back.

“I ducked.” Tony squeezed his eyes shut, relishing in the feeling of the man, _alive_ , in his arms. “But, hey, thanks for distracting them to give me enough time to take them down.”

Tony froze. “What?”

“Yeah, thanks for stalling them until the cops came.”

Tony pushed Steve away from him, holding him at the shoulders. “ _Cops?_ ” Now that he considered it, he did hear approaching sirens. Until now he just thought it was normal New York noise.

“The emergency button, under the counter? I hit it. Another tip my buddy gave me. Always looking out for me.” Steve gave a fond laugh, and Tony made a mental note to demand just who this _buddy_ was later, when he wasn’t fighting off, what he guessed was, a panic attack.

Steve grew sober the more he examined Tony’s face. “You _were_ stalling, weren’t you? You weren’t actually going to let them take you.” All Tony could do was stare down at Steve, eyes wide and suddenly uncomfortably wet. “You were actually going to let them take you,” Steve stated, jaw set.

Tony grew suddenly offended. He didn’t need Steve thinking he was just an idiot without a backbone. “Hey, I meant what I said. Better me than you.”

“Oh, you meant what you said about having more money in your wallet than I make in my cafe in a year? You meant that?” Tony’s mouth fell open, flabbergasted. Steve laughed, reaching once more for Tony and looping his arms around his middle. “Come here. Thank you.”

Slowly, carefully, Tony hugged him back, as if afraid Steve was going to shatter in his arms. “Thank… _me?_ Thank _you_ , I- you’ll have to teach me those moves later. I can’t have a man, who’s a whole head shorter than me, fighting all my battles.”

“Oh, in that case, definitely not.”

The cops arrived outside, coloured lights reflecting around the cafe. Tony hugged Steve tighter, inhaling the scent of vanilla that seemed to constantly follow him around. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah.” Steve squeezed him back. “Me, too.”


	5. Coffee shop AU (of an AU)

**_Security Camera 04_ **

**_08/12/14_ ** **_8:32am_ **

A man enters, a new customer to the cafe, facial hair cut at sharp angles and large sunglasses obscuring his face from view. He looks around, hands in his pockets, before taking a seat at a table in the corner. He pulls a phone from his pocket and begins to type.

After a moment a server comes up to his table, notepad in hand. The light hair pushed away from his face allows full view to the wide smile there. He greets the dark-haired man, who looks up at the menu before exchanging words with a set expression, aside from a brief smile at the end.

The server hurries away, returning not long after with a cup in hand. He places it in front of the customer, who hands him a bill in return. The server looks at the bill in hand, eyes wide. It’s too much. The customer insists, turning back to his phone.

The argument is over. The server bustles away. Not long after, the customer stands, throws his drink in the garbage, and exits the cafe.

He doesn’t look back to see the server watch him leave.

**_Security Camera 04_ **

**_08/15/14 9:05_ ** **_am_ **

The customer takes a seat at his usual spot. This time, he smiles up at the server as he approaches. The server takes his order. They share a few extra words with pleasant smiles and the server leaves, returning not a moment later with his coffee. Again, a few words are shared before the server leaves.

The customer finishes his coffee with periodic glances up to the server, where he stands behind the counter, grabbing a pastry from the display case. Every time the server turns, the customer turns abruptly away.

The blush on the customer’s cheeks is noticeable even through the monochromatic camera feed.

The customer throws out his coffee cup on the way out the door. He looks back to the server and waves. The server is busy helping another customer and doesn’t see.

The customer sighs and leaves the shop, pushing the door open a tad rougher than necessary.

**_Security Camera 04_ **

**_08/17/14 11:01p_ ** **_m_ **

He returns a couple of days later, collapsing at his normal table. The rest of the cafe is empty. He stares listlessly out the cafe window.

After a moment of anxious stares, the server cautiously joins him at his table. The customer barely turns his head.

The server asks questions, to which the customer replies with one word answers. A worried look grows over the server’s face the more the customer speaks. After a minute of uncomfortable silence, the server stands and steps behind the counter. He returns with the customer’s regular order, slowly sliding it onto the table. The customer peers up at him, and his shoulders sag. He reaches for the cup and drinks it greedily before setting it on the table and twirling it between his fingers. Finally, he looks up at the server, who had been waiting, concerned, beside his table.

The customer’s mouth moves - _thank you_. He closes his eyes and begins to list to the side, exhausted. The server hovers by the table before sighing and turning away. The customer peels open his eyes, watching the server clean the counter. He says nothing. Eventually, he leaves.


	6. "Make me.”

“We’ll be back to the base in an hour,” Steve says, addressing the group. Clint sits in the cockpit of the jet, Natasha leans against the weapons wall, Thor and Bruce sit side-by-side on the emergency medical bed, and Tony rests on the bench just behind Steve. “Natasha, I want you to debrief Fury when we arrive. Thor, oversee the prisoner transfer. Bruce, assess the team’s medical needs. Tony, I want you to take weapons inventory-”

“No.”

Steve turns slowly, narrowing his eyes. “Excuse me?”

Tony stands to meet Steve’s eyeline. “I said no.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. Bruce buries his head against Thor’s shoulder in frustration. Tony doesn’t mind; he doesn’t take notice

Steve takes a step closer to Tony. “I’m your captain, Stark. You need to fall in line.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony quiets his voice. “Make me.”

Steve inches toward Tony, who steps back in response. Natasha mock-gags and turns away.

“Can you two just keep it in your pants?” Clint calls without turning around. “Come on, guys. It’s a small jet.”

“I want to know exactly what the Captain will do if I don’t follow orders,” Tony taunts, looking up at Steve as he’s pressed back against the side of the jet.

“I’ll do it, okay?” Natasha interrupts, exasperated. “I’ll check the weapons.”

“You have a job, Nat,” Tony calls back, eyes never leaving Steve’s. “You do your job, I’ll take care of mine.”

“But you’re _not_ doing your job,” Thor groans.

Bruce’s eyes are still squeezed shut. “If you guys don’t stop, the Hulk _will_ come out. I’m not kidding.”

Tony grins up at Steve. “Shall we test our limits?”

Steve presses his palm to the wall just beside Tony’s head. “Let’s see.”

“I will turn this jet around,” Clint threatens from the cockpit, but Tony and Steve are already too far gone to hear.


	7. “Can I kiss you?”

Tony went to parties all the time, and he hosted more than his fair share. As a result, he had about 30 different suits in his closet and approximately 80 ties. Suits were no big deal to him; they were stuffy, a stupid formality.

That is, until he saw _Steve_ wearing one.

It was just a party, a fancy dinner to introduce the world to the Avengers, maybe to get some sponsors - saving the world wasn’t cheap, after all (Tony would assume). Tony invited all the contacts in his contact book, as Pepper had suggested.

_“Neil? Come on, he’s always hated me. There’s no way we’re getting his money-”_

_“Do it for the team, Tony.”_

_“And- ugh, Kathleen Torren? You can’t be serious.”_

_“And what’s wrong with Ms. Torren?”_

_“She’s just- she’s annoying!”_

And despite it all, there was Kathleen across the dance floor that absolutely no one was dancing on; Tony heard her high-pitched voice even through the other conversations being held and the music that was too stuffy for a Tony Stark party. Alas, as Pepper had argued, _This isn’t the Tony Stark show. This is an Avengers fundraiser_.

So, Tony put up with it - but not without a fight.

He took a drink every time he heard Kathleen’s high-pitched laugh, every time Neil shot him a dirty look, every time someone told him _it’s an honor to meet you!_ and, just to be sure, every time a new guest walked through the door. There was no way he was getting through this night sober; he refused to allow it.

Natasha’s long, red dress was stunning, albeit a tad blurry. On her arm, Clint’s tie - was it blue or green? Tony found himself mirroring Bruce’s fidgets when he entered, and he was barely able to greet Thor when he walked in. Tony was smiling wide, swaying on his feet, and he wasn’t going to remember a moment of this night. _Good_.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw blue; a light blue, velvet suit being sported by his very own Captain America - very _Prince Charming_ -y. Steve’s hair was swept back, away from his face, but stray pieces still found their way down into his eyes; an amateur attempt at spruceness. His shoes were shining, clean - _too_ clean. Brand new. Tony watched with a grin as it took the man a moment to find his footing on the reception hall’s slick floor.

Tony drifted toward the back wall, half-empty glass in hand, watching as guest after entitled guest moved to shake _the_ Captain America’s hand, to thank him for his contributions to society, to ask for a selfie, to offer materialistic goods in exchange for his support on their brands. Tony smirked as Steve’s blush grew deeper and deeper, even with the low lights, even from across the room.

Finally, after taking a selfie with a man who seemed to be more focused on flexing for the camera than getting Steve in frame, Steve found himself alone. He took a deep breath - Tony watched his chest rise and fall - and finally spotted Tony across the room. He made his way over, as quickly as he could in his new shoes, and Tony watched him with a smirk as he approached, his glass cradled expertly within two fingers.

“Hi, Tony,” Steve greeted, pivoting to stand beside Tony with their backs to the walls.

“Captain.”

Steve exhaled deeply. “Lot of people.”

“You have Pepper to thank for that one.”

“Have you seen Nat?”

Tony gestured across the floor to the group of people surrounding the woman in the centre who seemed to have a spotlight following her wherever she traveled. “Oh, she’s over there, dazzling some investors.”

“Bruce?”

“Running away from said investors.” Tony gestured to the opposite corner of the room, where Bruce was sitting, alone, at one of the tables. As Tony watched, Thor crossed the floor over to him and took a seat at his table. Bruce’s expression lit up, and they began conversing. It was good to know the team was being well taken care of.

“… Oh,” Steve commented, taking notice of the same scene Tony was watching. “And, uh, what about Clint?”

“Hiding out at the bar, if I had to guess.” Tony took another gulp of his drink at the mention of it.

Steve chuckled faintly, and Tony turned slightly, seeing him in profile - the sharp angle of his jaw, his sparkling blue eyes lined with perfect lashes, the faint pink of his lips. Steve caught him looking, and red began to creep up his neck.

Tony found himself subconsciously gnawing on his lower lip as he watched. _Shit, that’s adorable._

“Tony?” Steve asked, concerned. “Are- are you alright?”

Tony lowered the hand holding his glass to his waist - it was unimportant at the moment. “I want to kiss you,” he whispered. Steve’s eyes widened, and the blush on his neck grew deeper, if possible. Tony’s grin grew.

“I- _what?_ ”

“Can I kiss you, Steve?”

Steve looked around, as if to see if anyone else was nearby. Then, he caught sight of the glass in Tony’s hand. “Tony, you’re drunk.”

“I’m always drunk, Cap. Don’t take it personally.”

“Here.” Steve reached forward, sliding the glass out from between Tony’s fingers. Tony kept his eyes glued to Steve’s face as he set the glass down on a nearby table before grabbing Tony’s hand and leading him from the room.

“Where are we going?” Tony slurred, smiling wide. Steve guided Tony out of the crowded room and out the hallway, pushing open the doors to a balcony and guiding Tony outside.

“To get you some fresh air, and hopefully snap you out of this state.” Steve closed the doors behind them.

“Can’t snap me out of my feelings, Steve.”

“These aren’t your feelings, Tony. You’re drunk, and I was just nearby.”

“Uh-uh,” Tony tsked, reaching out for Steve’s blue tie and tugging him forward as Tony pressed himself back against the railing of the balcony. “Been feeling this for weeks. Finally time to get it out into the open.”

“Uh- _weeks?_ ”

“Yuuup.” Tony dragged the word out. “I like you, Cap.” Tony tapped Steve’s chest for emphasis. “Always have.”

Steve braced his hands on the balcony on either side of Tony to keep the pressure off of his _very drunk_ teammate in aversion to giving him the wrong idea. “This is inappropriate, Tony.”

“And when have you ever known me to be appropriate?” He tilted his chin upward. “Come on. Just a little kiss, please?”

“ _No_ ,” Steve said firmly, pushing himself away from Tony. Tony watched him step back, goofy smile morphing into a frown.

“Shit,” Tony groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “What ‘n idiot. Don’t tel Cap’n ‘Merica you- you like him, stupid, Tony, stupid-”

“Hey- _no_ , Tony. Hey.” Steve stepped forward again, placing his hands on Tony’s shoulders. Tony refused to look up. “It’s not stupid.”

“Stupid, stupid,” Tony slurred. “Stupid feelings, stupid _Steve_ -”

“It’s not stupid if I like you back!” Tony blinked up at Steve, confused. “Yeah, I- I like you, too. I just didn’t know how to say it. And I would _love_ to kiss you right now, really, I would, but you’re drunk, and I’m not going to take advantage of that.”

Tony blinked slowly up at Steve. “I- I give you permission.”

“Drunken permission isn’t permission,” Steve sighed, cupping a hand around the back of Tony’s neck, “though I’d love nothing else right now. But do you know what we’re going to do?” Tony shook his head. “We’re going to go, right now.”

“Leave the party?”

“The Avengers have enough funds already, anyway. We’re going to get you home, and changed, and into bed, and we’re going to set out some Advils, all nice and ready for the morning, alright?”

“Aw, Captain America is taking care of me.”

Steve wrapped an arm around Tony’s shoulders, beginning to guide them back into the venue. “’Course I am. And tomorrow, we’re going to have a conversation, alright? A nice, long one.”

Tony groaned. “I don’t like long conversations. Have ‘em with Pepper all the time.”

“Yeah, well, it seems like we need one right now.” Steve stopped in the doorway of the venue, picking out Natasha in the crowd and waiting for her to make eye contact. When she did, Steve gestured to Tony and mouthed the word, _home_. Natasha raised an eyebrow and smirked before turning away; Steve just rolled his eyes.

“Going to have to correct her on that in the morning,” he muttered as he continued to lead Tony away, out the doors.

“Correct what?” Tony slurred.

“Nothing. Let’s just get you home.”


	8. Honeymoon

Steve is surprised to wake up to an empty bed.

His arm is draped over a cool pillow, and an unusual amount of spare blankets crowds around his legs. He props himself up on his elbows as he scans the dark room. When Tony had proposed they honeymoon on one of the Stark’s private islands, Steve wasn’t expecting to wake up alone.

A breeze from the open terrace door welcomes him as he leaves the warmth of the covers, grabbing a stray hoodie from the floor at the base of the bed and slipping it on. He yawns as he steps onto the terrace, bare feet padding across the tile as the moonlight welcomes him.

It’s dark, but peaceful. Steve watches tree branches bend and sway in the breeze, watches waves pick up, caressed by moonlight - and there among them, Steve sees a shadow, a figure standing in the beginnings of the ocean.

Steve wants to run down to Tony, to sweep him up in his arms, but he takes a moment to wait, to watch.

Tony is still; unnaturally still. His hands are lax at his sides, shoulders rising and falling rhythmically. The occassional breeze ruffles his hair, but he’s otherwise motionless, staring out at the horizon.

Steve makes his way down the stairs, picks his way through the sand. He rolls up his pant legs and begins to move carefully through the waves. Tony turns, taking a quick look over his shoulder, before turning back to watch the water ebb and flow.

Steve reaches Tony’s side and comes to a stop, looking carefully at his face. Tony’s lips part with each breath, but there are creases in his forehead - worry lines. His eyes reflect the stars, seeming to be lost in them. Steve wraps an arm around Tony’s waist and brings him back to the present.

“Where are you?” Steve murmurs in Tony’s ear, moving to stand behind Tony, to let Tony lean back against his chest.

“Stuck in my head,” Tony sighs, dropping his head back. Steve inches his hand around Tony’s chest in some form of an inverted hug, massaging his opposite shoulder.

“And what’s keeping you there?”

“My dad. Ross. The team… the world.”

Steve drops his hands to settle around Tony’s waist; he feels Tony relax against him. “And are they here now?”

“Well… no.”

“And is there anything you can do about it in this very moment?”

“I can’t just forget everything. Out of sight, out of mind - it seems easy, but-” Tony groans, dropping his head back against Steve’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers. “I shouldn’t have come out here. I upset you.”

“You’re helping more than you know, just listening.”

A wave laps against their legs, wetting where Steve’s pants are tugged up around his knees. He looks down to investigate and sees Tony’s pajama pants soaked; he hadn’t even bothered to roll them up.

“Why don’t we get you inside? Into a dry set of clothes?”

“Would you be the one to undress me?” Tony asks slyly, but his voice is missing heat. He’s saying what he thinks he should be.

“Why did you come out here?”

“To drown my thoughts.” Tony says it with such surety, Steve can’t help but tighten his grip around Tony’s waist protectively.

“And is it working?” Tony wordlessly shakes his head. “So why don’t you try a different method? Why don’t you get it out instead? Talk to me.”

And Tony does.

He tells Steve about the woes of his past that never got solved, about all the stress revolving around Ross, about the fear every time the team responds to a mission. He tells Steve everything, things that haven’t bothered him for years and others that arose just recently, things that upset him and others he doesn’t even want to think about. He talks until his throat hurts, and then some more. There’s a tightness in his chest when he finishes, taking deep breaths, and all Steve has to do is apply light pressure to the back of Tony’s neck, to weave his hand up into Tony’s hair, and Tony sobs, releasing everything brought to the surface. He cries and he heaves and his cheeks grow wet and his vision blurs, and Steve is there through all of it, holding Tony flush against him, supporting him, not once letting him go.

Tony is quivering, his cheeks covered with dried tears. His eyes look listlessly up at the sky as Steve cradles him against his chest.

Tony takes a shuddering breath. “I-I’m sorry-”

Steve shushes him gently, easing his hand from Tony’s hair to brush over his eyes, to trace down his nose and around his jaw, to gently cup around his neck and rest on his collarbone, and to start again. Over and over Steve traces the path until Tony falls lax, and Steve waits, ready to ease Tony up into his arms and walk them back toward the house.

He sets Tony down in bed, easing him into a new pair of pajamas. Tony doesn’t stir; if he’s awake, he’s content to rest, to sit quietly as Steve adjusts him into a comfortable position.

When Steve’s satisfied, he slides into bed beside Tony, wrapping his arms around his now-husband and tugging him to his chest.

“What a great honeymoon,” Tony mutters sarcastically, words slurred and voice low.

“It’s perfect,” Steve answers honestly. “I could hope for nothing better.”


	9. “I wish you would just take me out already.”

“I wish you would just take me out already,” Tony says from where he pours over the piles of paperwork on his desk. Steve looks up, startled, caught in the doorway of Tony’s office.

“… Wait, really?” The papers he came to drop off threaten to fall from his trembling hands.

“Uh, yeah. Hurry it up, will you?”

A grin begins to spread across Steve’s face as he sets the papers down on Tony’s desk. “How about this Saturday?”

Tony peers up from his papers, smirking. “Saturday sounds lovely. Can’t wait.”

When Saturday evening rolls around, Steve returns to Tony’s office, this time dressed in a pressed button-down and slacks, hair perfectly coiffed with a crazy amount of gel. He bounces on the balls of his feet as he waits in the doorway for Tony to notice him. It takes a moment, but eventually Tony looks up, mouth falling open.

“Can I help you?” Tony asks slowly, eyes roaming over Steve’s outfit.

Steve’s smile falters. “We- we have that date, remember?”

“I think I’d remember if Captain Spangles asked me out.” Tony stands, rounding the desk. Steve’s brow furrows as he watches Tony approach.

“You said you wanted me to- to take you out. Today _is_ Saturday, right?”

Tony pauses for a moment, thinking. Realization crosses his face and he bursts out laughing.

“Oh, my- take me out with, like, a sniper or something. It was a self-depricating joke because, I swear this paperwork is trying to eat me alive.” Steve freezes, face growing red. Tony notices and raises a brow. “You thought I was asking you to take me out on a date.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve mumbles, avoiding eye contact, “not everyone is as openly suicidal as you.”

“Huh,” Tony notes faintly, stepping closer to Steve. His eyes travel from Steve’s hair, down his collar and tracing his buttons, all the way down to his shoes. “A date, hm?”

“W-well, it was just a mistake, really, a misunderstanding-”

“I fear I may be a tad underdressed.”

Steve freezes, eyes going wide. “Wait, you’d actually… _agree_ to this?”

“Yeah, well,” Tony’s eyes find Steve’s lips, “I’m bored.” Steve flushes red. “Give me five minutes.”

“Five. Yeah. Okay.”

Tony returns fifteen minutes later in an outfit that must cost more than Steve himself, and Steve thinks he may just spontaneously combust on the spot.


	10. Hidden identity

Tony pulls the front door closed behind him, smiling as he steps out onto the doorstep. He glides to Steve’s side who stands a few feet away, putting his arm over his boyfriend’s shoulders.

“So?” Steve asks as they depart from the house.

Tony sighs pleasantly as they reach the end of the driveway, hovering just beside his car. “She’s a lovely woman, really. Well, I wouldn’t expect anything else from the great Mrs. Rogers.”

“She loves you, too.”

“You really think so?” Tony brushes a hand through his hair, unsure.

“Oh, positive. You think she gives her super secret chocolate chip cookie recipe to just anyone who visits?”

Tony grips the paper tighter in his hand. “I’m really glad. Honestly, I’ve been nervous about this visit for a while.”

“Well, it’s over now, and you did great.” Steve runs a hand up and down Tony’s arm as he leans in for a quick kiss. “So,” he murmurs against Tony’s lips, “when do I get to meet your parents?”

Tony’s mouth opens before pressing closed, and he steps back, averting his gaze. “I don’t, um, think that would be the best idea.”

“Oh, come on. We just passed our eight month anniversary, and I still haven’t heard a single thing about them!”

“Oh, I think you might’ve,” Tony mutters.

“Okay, now you’re just being cryptic.”

“I need you to trust me when I say, meeting them is nothing worth doing.”

“But I _want_ to!” Steve fights, reaching for Tony’s hand. “I want to meet them! I feel like we’ve gotten close enough for that-”

Tony pulls his hand away. “Just drop it.”

Steve frowns, dejected. “Are you ashamed of me?”

“I- what? No, of course not.”

“You don’t think your parents will approve?”

“Steve, that’s not it-”

“Then why can’t I meet them?”

Tony sighs, and Steve can see him blushing even in the low light of evening as his eyes are fixed dutifully down at Steve’s feet. “I’ve been lying to you,” he sighs after a moment. “My last name… it’s not actually Carbonell.” He looks up at Steve, eyes wide and expression vulnerable. “It’s… Stark.”

Steve shrugs, looking lost. “Okay?” he chuckles, confused. “Tony Stark. A bit funny on the tongue, but I don’t know why you would lie about-” Steve freezes, eyes going wide.

“Stark Industries,” he says, just above a whisper. Tony nods, sucking in a breath. “You… and- and Howard-”

“My father,” Tony confirms with a half smile. Steve’s mouth falls open, and he shakes his head.

“You… you _lied_. Why did you lie?”

Tony feels frozen under Steve’s betrayed expression. He hates knowing he’s the one who put it there, the one it’s directed at.

“I couldn’t have the expectations, the pressure, following me around-”

“Oh, boo, hoo,” Steve groans, turning away, _walking_ away, from Tony.

Tony feels panic rise in his throat at the sight of Steve’s retreating back.

“And I-” Steve stops moving. “I needed to know that… that you actually liked me.”

“Well, of course I do,” Steve mutters from a few feet away, his back to Tony. “You know I do.”

“I couldn’t be sure, at first,” Tony confesses, words getting caught in his throat. “I just needed to know that you liked me… for _me_ , and not my family or- or money.”

For a minute Steve doesn’t move, and Tony feels like he can’t breathe. And then, he looks over his shoulder, just slightly. “Did you really think I would do that? Just… _use_ you?”

Tony’s voice is quiet, barely audible, stolen by the breeze. “It’s happened before.”

Slowly, Steve turns back around. “Direct me to who did that to you and I’ll kick their ass.” Tony smiles, just slightly, and Steve sighs. “I can’t believe you kept this from me.”

“Well, can you blame me?”

Steve analyzes Tony’s expression for a moment. “No,” he says finally. “I guess I can’t.” He takes a step closer, and Tony’s lungs seem to expand, just a bit. “Is there anything else you’re hiding from me? Are you related to the Osborns, too, somehow?”

Tony laughs, shaking his head. “Hell, no.”

Steve nods once, whispering, “Okay.” _Okay, I believe you. Okay, I forgive you. Okay, I accept you._

“And, listen, if you have any secrets of your family that you’d like to divulge-”

Steve pulls open the driver’s side door, allowing Tony to slide behind the wheel. “I mean, if you want a discount on art supplies, visit my mom in the shop across campus. Mondays to Fridays, nine to five.”

Tony grins just before Steve closes the door. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Steve walks around the car and settles in beside Tony, buckling his seatbelt. Tony grabs Steve’s hand before he can retract it.

“I’m sorry I lied,” he says quietly. Steve just presses a kiss to his forehead.

“If you think my opinion of you would change just because of a _name_ , honey, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Tony grins. “Good. Because I’ve been considering changing my first name to Arnold recently-”

“I revoke my earlier statement.”

They pull away from the Rogers household, Tony’s laughter filling the air.


	11. Jealous Tony Stark

No matter what anyone (Natasha) says, Tony is _not_ jealous.

He’s glad Bucky’s back, actually. Steve was nervous when his friend left for the mission, and now that Bucky has finally returned, Steve can relax. He’s seemed more than relaxed, actually; he’s smiling and laughing and it seems he spends every free moment around Bucky. They’re going out to see films and if ever Tony can’t find his boyfriend, chances are, Steve can be found in Bucky’s room, just... chatting away.

Steve seems happier now; it’s great.

Tony is _not_ jealous.

Tony hears Steve’s laughter echo down the hallway as he stands near the counter in the kitchen, brewing some coffee. Natasha smirks as Tony sets an empty mug down on the counter with a heavy _thud._

“Well, they seem to be having a lot of fun,” Natasha notes lightly, lifting her mug of green tea to her lips. Tony glares at her over his shoulder. “Oh, come on. I’m kidding.” Tony turns back to the machine without a word. “Wait, you don’t seriously think-”

“I don’t _think_ anything,” Tony mutters. “They’re friends. Steve’s having fun. It’s fine.”

“Tony, you know Steve would never-”

“I know that, didn’t you just hear me?” Tony growls, planting his hands on the counter. Natasha falls silent except for the sounds of her drink sloshing in her cup.

“If you’re really worried,” she says quietly, “you can always just talk to him.”

Tony shakes his head as he fills his mug, his hand trembling. Though he doesn’t want to admit it, this is his worst fear come true - that Steve is leaving him. That he’s found someone better, more deserving of his affection.

“I’m not going to be _that_ boyfriend,” he mutters. His hand shakes so violently that coffee sloshes over the lip of the mug and onto the counter, and Tony curses under his breath as he reaches for a paper towel.

“Tony, if you’re concerned, you really should-”

Tony slams his fists down on the counter with a resounding _thud._ “I will _not_ be the man who controls who their boyfriend talks to,” Tony snaps, and Natasha meets his hard eyes with her steadied ones for just a moment before standing from the table.

“You’re acting like a teenager,” she mutters. “If you have an issue, just _talk_ to him about it.”

“I am _not_ -”

“You’re not jealous,” she sighs. “I know.”

With that she leaves the kitchen, and Tony finds himself alone, Bucky’s laughter mingling with Steve’s and echoing hauntingly from down the hallway.

//

Tony hasn’t been able to clear the thought from his mind all day, and he _hates_ it. He hates this feeling, this burning heat in his chest at the mere _thought_ of Bucky, of Steve with him. Tony _knows_ Steve’s not- knows he would never- and yet, sitting on _their_ bed with some kind of action movie playing on t.v. that Tony just can’t focus on, he can’t help but wonder, can’t help but fear.

It’s eight at night when Steve steps into their room, and by that point Tony could’ve bore a hole into the t,v. with how hard he’s been staring at it. He doesn’t look up as Steve closes the door and settles on their bed, his chest pressed to Tony’s back, arms held around his shoulders.

Tony is torn between feeling safe, and feeling betrayed.

“How’s Barnes?” is the first thing he asks, unable to stop himself - and he hates it. The word tastes sour in his mouth, and he can’t take the bitterness from his tone.

“I’m glad to have him back,” Steve answers lightly, unsuspecting, and Tony’s chest feels hollow.

“I’m sure you are.”

Steve sits upright, inching around to look Tony in the eyes. “Are you upset?”

Tony feels instantly guilty. “Of course not.”

“You haven’t looked at me since I stepped in here.”

Face red, Tony looks down, picking at loose threads on the bed cover. “You’re spending time with Barnes, and it’s great. I’m sure you’ve missed him, and so it makes sense that-”

“Tony, are you jealous?”

Tony clenches his teeth. “I wish people would stop using that word,” he mutters.

Steve grabs Tony’s hand where it rests on the bed, and Tony stares down at where they touch. “I’m really sorry I haven’t made you feel safe enough to trust me,” he says quietly, and a thick layer of guilt settles over Tony. He wishes he could press into the mattress and disappear.

“It’s not your-”

“No, it _is._ No matter who I talk to or how long I’m gone, you should feel sure that I am always yours and will come back to you, and... you’re beating yourself over this, aren’t you? Over feeling like this?”

Tony keeps his eyes fixed downward. “I’m not jealous,” he mutters, ashamed.

Steve sighs, reaching forward and pulling Tony toward him, holding Tony’s head to his chest. “I love you,” he whispers. “Always and _only_ you, I promise.”

“I should’ve known that,” Tony sighs.

“Well, I hope you do now.”


End file.
